


Chess doesn't mean what it used to

by Kitexa



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Anger, Chess, Chess Metaphors, Drabble, Future, Guilt, Heartache, Hostile, M/M, Other, blame, hostility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitexa/pseuds/Kitexa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a photo on tumblr. DoFP drabble</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chess doesn't mean what it used to

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by one of the new DoFP photos floating around. I can't figure out how to HTML link, but it's that one of Charles and Erik playing chess.

Erik isn’t sure what they’re doing here. Wedged behind a chessboard like old friends. That’s who they are, he’s told—once, twice, until he’s bound to give. He’d note this Logan’s perseverance, were all parties willing. He’s not spoken ten words to Charles since making bail, but ferocity radiates so thickly Erik wonders if he might choke. The look in the telepath’s eyes do nothing for his nerves….

“Your move.”

“Hm?”

 Hard eyes grow harder still, as Charles again states “your move, Magneto.”

 Looks may not kill, but words cut to the bone. Erik cringes, mask betrayed. “Erik.” _You used to call me Erik._

He used to do a lot of things… In response, however, Charles sighs.

“Are you going to move, or shall I?” A darting glance, and one well-welcomed, studying the game. Drawn again to silence, two fingers push forward a lonely pawn. “Your move.” Echoes Erik; that’s all this is, isn’t it? A ghost of who they were, risen from an unsettled grave?

“You’ve left your king exposed.” Gaze trails up, as the other falls; a mixed expression clouding Charles’ face.

 “I know.” Says Erik, folding his hands. “I forfeit.”

“…I’m sorry, what?”

He sighs. “I forfeit, Charles. We’re wasting our time.” He’d stand for emphasis, had they the room. As it is, he sits back, resignation scribbled in his features. To his dismay (though ever so common) Charles scowls, and what still remains in his control stiffens.

“The only time wasted” he snips “are your efforts in communication. We’ve a six hour flight to make amends. The floor is yours.” The assertiveness, he’s used to. The venom… Bitterness didn’t suit Charles. _Charles_ hardly suited Charles. The once clean-cut professor looked so… _shaggy_ now. Disheveled. Unkempt. A shocking 180 from the man he once knew. _What happened to change him so?_ Ten, eleven years, without speaking, perhaps there’d been a gradual progression he’d not been—

 “What _happened,_ Erik,” the other man hisses, and to Erik’s horror, he’s slipped inside his head, “is you ruined my life.”

He remembers in this moment just how powerful his fr—former adversary is. Years spoiled by advantageous metals rendering useless telepathic prying. So he believes. Emma’s been dead for some time and Charles…he hadn’t know what became of Charles until recently. Where he ended up. Far from their expeditions; he’s not felt the other’s presence for a very long time. Doing so now, in full, nothing short of terrifies him. “Charles, I didn’t—I don’t know what you’re—” an abrupt SLAP against the tabletop shuts him up.

“Don’t be _stupid_. You know damn well what I’m talking about.” He doesn’t, it’s been a decade since they’ve spoken, HOW is this…

… _a face before him flashes now. Young, too young for the year tacked to his birthdate. He’s crying, or trying his best to withhold, pinching lips too red to be natural (but they are, and that’s why Erik loved them, so….) ‘She didn’t do this.’ he chokes, a deep sadness drowned in agonized cerulean. The ‘she’ in question means little to him, his only thought this broken creature in his lap. ‘She didn’t do this, Erik…You did.’_

 Crushing guilt subsides, pulled forward to the present. The…memory? (Illusion? Was that Charles’ doing?) a very good question. He looks to the telepath, chest too tight for comfort. Charles’ features sit gravely in his scruffy face —robbed, Erik’s noticing more and more, of its youthful spark —no less pained. No less angry.

“You took from me everything I loved.” Continues (or perhaps confesses, were not the word so gentle ) Charles. “My sister, my freedom…” and though he doesn’t say it ‘dearest friend’ rings loud inside his mind. “I’m only here now because I’ve nothing left to lose. Sean is dead, Alex…I’ve not heard from Alex in a very long time, Moira…” he never did learn the agent’s fate. Likely never would: Charles presses on. “I’ve no school thanks to your _publicity stunts_ — all I have is Hank, and a man who claims he’s from the bloody future.”

Erik dares to wonder if perhaps Charles has noticed his own decreased numbers. Or perhaps, that Mystique left of her own accord. By the ZING through his conscience, it’s an obvious conclusion.

“If this Logan chap hadn’t sought us both out, I’d have no business with you. That door has closed, and I intend to keep it locked, future be damned.”

 Not literally, that much Erik recognizes. He wouldn’t, were Charles still not leeching to his thoughts. If he’s honest with himself… _I hoped we’d have a chance, again._ He’s…missed Charles. Missed him that first day and never stopped. But the way he keeps looking at him…there’s no lingering affection. Regret, remorse… Only anger. _Pain and anger…_ Erik stands, then, ducking just before the ceiling knocks his head. “Goodnight, Charles.” He doesn’t bother looking back.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written between 2 and 4 AM, so forgive the lacking quality. Next time I drabble, I make sure I have the time.


End file.
